


Honey on my lips

by moon_hedgehog



Series: sponsored by lana del rey [1]
Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Body Worship, Experimental Style, M/M, Mythology References, Poetic things™, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_hedgehog/pseuds/moon_hedgehog
Summary: I was left here in bits and piecesuntil you found me andbecame my Universe.





	Honey on my lips

**Author's Note:**

> [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_1aF54DO60)  
>  fic was a personal challenge;  
>  _ **everything** is symbolic_ , because I can.

This room is luminous with niveous-yellow light – it dances on the floor and ceiling, refracting through the thick window glass; gently caresses tiny, pale pink flowers of the arbutus and suffused with purple petals of the viscaria; motherly envelopes the crystal-white vase with its warmth. Specks of dust are whirling in the air – they're covering the wooden window-sill with fallen sequins; and beyond it outspreads a garden, trees, stretching to the window with green hands; and an infinitely breathtaking field with thousands of sparks-colors. All this seems so far and so close – the singing birds, the chirping of grasshoppers, the touch of leaves; here, in this room, only silence, tenderly lulling at the doorstep, warm semi-darkness on the shoulders and half-forgotten echoes of the rest of the world _(which simply does not exist outside)_.

Henry Jekyll could've said a lot. He could've turned to Edward Hyde and catch his glance – in his eyes, as always, would've been waltzing a myriad of emerald stars, weaving into the miraculous constellation of the Orion belt, transforming into a web of galaxies. For such as him, Henry, it's so easy to get lost in this cosmos – he's only a weeny spaceship, a researcher of unexplored territories, a machine swallowed by black holes in the creation. If only he could merely, barely, for a moment get to the sun – to the most leftmost star, the invisible smile in the depth of the pupil, the white sparkle.

Henry Jekyll could've caught his glance and take a step forward, and then another and another; until Edward Hyde as always wouldn't back down, until Henry wouldn't gingerly catch his wrists and pull to himself, until Edward wouldn't freeze, warily and anticipating. And he could've said:

 _I want you so much_. You are like a bottomless abyss, a black-green swirl, and where are those monsters that guard the entrance to your heart? I was a captain of the small English galleon and I was predicted to go around the whole world under a golden flag – but the cliffs and ridges nearby your kingdom broke my ship into flinders, leaving me to drown and drown and drown. And I want you, I want you permanently; I would build for you a stained-glass church with a spire of cedar; I would put a crown of thorns on my head and stain the altar of this church with blood; and this's all _just for you_.

Every day of my life I pray that only to hear your voice again – it's high and hoarse, with the ringing of gilded bells penetrating into every dark spot of my spirit - and to inbreathe your scent (you always smell like spring, danger, and caramel, driving me crazy). I would sell my soul to Lucifer himself, just to kiss your dry lips one more time – and if you wouldn't even answer me, I would never regret that I'm burning in Hell, licking off the bitter taste of honey from the corners of my mouth. Forgetting about fear, I would follow you to the edge of the world – and farther, much farther - just to have a possibility to draw my fingertips around your body's curves, feel your ethereal fragility and fiery firmness – everything and nothing at the same time.

Henry Jekyll could've pushed Edward Hyde to the bed; and Edward would've obeyed, descending onto the sheets that smelled of may-lily, and Henry would've knelt, still inches from Edward's face. And he could've said:

 _I want you so much_. You're a bittersweet potion in the depth of my mouth, you're the king piercing my heart with an air sword, you're the spell that binds our souls. I was Moses, leading my tribe to oases and fortresses, and you were Azazel, the demon of the desert, dropping poison from claws onto my wounds; and this sweet pain absorbed my will and destroyed my pride. I was a prophet who found his God in the gas lamps' light; and every time that God allows me to _penetrate in him_ , I feel myself too dirty and unholy to be able to even touch. You stole my body like Mercury, pouring it with sacred quicksilver and putting on it your stigma. I'm losing the last shards of time, listening to my God's moans when I caress him with my tongue and deliriously kiss traces on his back.

I would destroy all pagan idols, ruin all civilizations of the world, drain the seas and oceans – just to merit your smile, replacing me Phoebus. You are my moon and I am your waves, ecstatically praising their lord. You are so _beautiful_ , and I am so _unworthy_ – but as long as you let me carry you in my arms and brush the wheaten strands behind your ear; I will live. And if you go, I'll crash into thousands of little fragments to never assemble again.

Henry Jekyll could've then dissolved in a sugary sweet kiss, exactly till the moment when the lungs would've run out of oxygen. And tearing himself away from Edward Hyde, he would've gone down to his neck. And he could've whispered:

 _I want you so much_. Sorry, sorry, sorry – I'm only a mortal and I'm no match for you, but I will not endure your leaving; and I'm so _scared_ , to a panic, trembling in my temples and wrists. I am so afraid that one day you will understand that you're made of salt, gold, and shine; and I am just a dirty bottle glass, desperately searching for beauty. I'm so afraid of falling into your disgrace, and I'm so afraid of seeing your death. I will cut off my hands and block the entrance to my cave if I ever hurt you. I will cut out my heart with a sharp athame and give it to you – because dying for your life will be a gift. I will worship you until you bring your thumb to your throat – and then I'll give everything I have and tear myself apart no worse than lions, greedy for blood.

One day you dropped that mine, but you're the predator and I'm your prey – and it is me who's rightfully yours. I have no right to vote, but I beg – warn me if you're going to leave. _I have to prepare a chair and a rope_.

 

Henry Jekyll could've said a lot; but he turns to Edward Hyde, catches his gaze and feels the stumbling breath in his throat. All he can is to barely mutter:

“ _I love you so much.”_


End file.
